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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26400613">At the Center of the Universe</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/noondaize/pseuds/noondaize'>noondaize</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>ATEEZ (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Fluff and Angst, Introspection, M/M, Overthinking, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Doubt, Self-Reflection, Soft Song Mingi, Yunho is sad but with a question mark, everything is very vague so take what you will, vent fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:01:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,555</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26400613</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/noondaize/pseuds/noondaize</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>But for what it means, Yunho’s found a satisfying amount of constellations already trapped in Mingi’s gaze; stashed away to tint the world as he looks outward through a cosmos filter. And maybe that’s why Mingi is so much of everything Yunho is <em>not.</em></p><p>(Though Yunho’s brain is forever volatile, his ties to Mingi always remain the same.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>At the Center of the Universe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Let me preface this entire thing by saying it is *completely* self-indulgent. It just...is. </p><p>I wrote this a few days ago (which was also my birthday! so I’m gifting this to myself) during an anxiety episode that lasted literal hours so I apologize if it seems really confusing or jagged; I’m not sure how I managed to even type Yunho’s name correctly while in that state. Whipped problems I guess.</p><p>I’ve also never tried my hand at canon compliant work before, so I apologize if there’s not enough emphasis on the whole...”compliance to the canon” thing going on. This wasn’t meant to be commentary on what goes on behind the scenes of their work or anything really, it was just to work through some thinking patterns. </p><p>(And also, every person in the fandom has to know about Yunho staring at Mingi like he’s gods gift to the world during that last group vlive lol)</p><p>So yes, enjoy.</p><p>-n.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">  Descent into madness, as most people will corroborate, is agonizingly slow. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> They all bow down to signal the end of their practice session, bones tired as they pile into a van slow, slow, <em>slow</em> as they move. Yunho is last in line as the others move their bags and feet quicker just enough for him to lag as a shadow. Everyone’s asleep before the door even shuts and all seats are buckled, but the manager doesn’t push it as he drives. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> The world passes by the same way Yunho’s senses simmer and slip away: one foot dragging and sliding behind the other one on its way out. Almost purposefully so with the way they tease, kicking back with each step so their feet knock together and leave Yunho on edge with the thought of it tripping over itself and collapsing any second. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You tripped a few times today,” a voice filters through, just shy of having heard his every thought. Yunho turns to find Hongjoong feigning ignorance— on his phone and looking at it as though staring any more attentively will give the impression it’s lit up and staring back at him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> (The screen is dark and Yunho doesn’t have to look to notice.) </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I was tired,” Yunho shrugs. His voice is foreign even to him as it drifts in and out steadily to create tones as soothing as a tide. But still, it feels heavy and tasteless on his tongue. To Yunho, it’s almost like someone else entirely spoke for him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Maybe you should take a break. Everyone else is sleeping right now, join them.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Yunho knows, reasonably, he’d be able to brush it off and listen to the demands at any other time. He doesn’t bite back at anyone more than jokingly poking their sides and telling them to follow their own advice— a tendency most of them have, to not follow the footsteps they’re mapping for everyone else. A narcissistic facet of Yunho’s personality wishes to believe that in that specific area, he’s mastered the ability to balance them both. To take care as much as he shows it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> The rest of him— which is not up in clouds with his feet edging off the floor on his tiptoes, like he’s not taller than everyone else as it was and closer to the blazing sun by default— knows that it’s unfair to take that title away from someone else. Someone like the boy sitting behind him, near curled into Seonghwa’s side, breathing evenly with closed tiger eyes and dirty blonde hair. And Yunho knows just as reasonably that Mingi is nowhere near as far up in the stars the way he’s been for a long, long time, walking in circles. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> But for what it means, Yunho’s found a satisfying amount of constellations already trapped in Mingi’s gaze; stashed away to tint the world as he looks outward through a cosmos filter. And maybe that’s why Mingi is so much of everything Yunho is <em>not.</em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Yunho,” Hongjoong calls him again, voice steady if not tinged at its edges until it’s soaked to the bone with worry. “Sleep a little, will you? You don’t look too good.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Mingi stirs, soft and careful as he goes once he feels the pressure of Seonghwa’s body next to him. Maybe some innate and loving part of him that can’t stay away from conflict without resolving it had kickstarted his consciousness into action. He stares at the other two blearily, rubbing at his eyes in a childish manner and slurring out something that sounds like <em>“wa’s going on?” </em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Hongjoong shushes him and tells him under his breath that he’s trying to get Yunho to sleep; the two exchange a look before Mingi turns to Yunho and smiles. It’s lethargic and disoriented, but it still shines like a comet striking down right in front of Yunho’s eyes. It’s not the first time— has been years, since then, but Yunho is always too foolish to move when it happens. Every time, he ends up with more burns that only scar over. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You ok, Yun?” Mingi reaches a hand forward, tipping his body against its weight and resisting the little shock he feels run from the base of his spine. Yunho’s seen him do it a million times to hide that pain and in a panicked rebuttal, Yunho reaches back himself to twist his head and arm uncomfortably so the distance between them is shortened. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Mingi’s fingers graze his own and something makes Yunho painfully aware of how foggy everything is. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“Nap.”</em> Mingi demands it with his pout, and who is Yunho to deny him? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> The world revolves around nothing and no one, and Yunho is certainly the last candidate for such a thing. But Mingi pulls him to agreement with a single look and he decides that it’s time to give up on fighting the slow sinking feeling and just calmly go. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Yunho nods, bites back any words, and drifts to a fitful sleep with no dream. All he feels is his head hurting, and Mingi’s stardusted fingertips brushing against his arm as he tries to tug him back down to Earth just by asking him what he’s up to. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The descent into inner chaos, as slow as it is, is also extremely aggressive. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> It takes many moments here and there— minute taps to the wall that repeat enough times for the spot to begin its shift into splitting apart. Years of wear and tear produce a crack, which births a gap, until eventually the wall is more splits and wedges between happiness and coherency; bridges burnt down by the lows being too incredibly low once they’re culminated. But the process is methodical, and requires as much patience to break and crumble as required of a person to manage the succession of steps Yunho’s become a natural at. There is no real “natural” in anything, though. Only practiced to perfect the art of looking like you never needed practice. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> And he’s mastered that, at least. Puts the focus of his hard work into emitting a more playful and eased-up glow. It keeps the others light and airy themselves, and it keeps a certain pressure out of the corners of Yunho’s eyes as it rolls back like a wave and gives oxygen to the sands of the shore. Yunho helps everyone by being easy to teach and even easier of a teacher to understand. If Yunho works hard, everyone else can work a little easier. Then the world can go back to playing its little rhythm of vibrancy and zest. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> And maybe it’s the fact that to Yunho that’s all the world <em>is</em>— all it needs to be; color so bold and sound so vibrant. Touch so warm and puffs of breath meant to be so comforting. Because the world is lights, cameras, shoe squeaks and sweaty palms. And there is nothing Yunho would trade for eight pairs of shoes working in tandem, arms linked in that möbius strip they bring up occasionally, with words of <em>‘forever’</em> and <em>‘one’</em> circulating along their closed track like an electric current. Maybe it’s the fact that Yunho is living fast and lively because he’s always been conditioned to be the same way in his nature. Because it’s ingrained down to the very last cell from the day he was born to be bright, to burn as much as possible right when the clock strikes its highest and hottest moment of the sun peaking in the sky.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> They pile out of the car and filter into their dorm rooms easily, bodies shuffling their ways into pajamas and then beds. Yunho watches it all in real-time but he feels too sluggish to keep up with the energy still buzzing around them in little bursts. A giggle here, a push there, a conversation Yunho finds turns into background noise that he can’t really comprehend. He just follows his body’s motions as they repeat from muscle memory. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe he’s just a little tired. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> The part of Yunho that is as forgiving to himself as it is to everyone else tells him, like a mothering voice similar to Seonghwa’s when his worry spikes, that he <em>has</em> been working hard. Maybe too much so, from time to time. He gives it a lot to show reaction, to show patience, to show excellency. Being tired is a normal bodily reaction. He is always moving and entertaining and burning.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> But it’s devastating all the same, when that moment comes— few and far in between as it is— where for once that fire begins to burn the tips of his fingers and the nipping flame gnaws at him from the inside out until his skin starts to callous and scar. When their shoes go out of sync for just that minute second and suddenly it’s one pair chasing seven. When his palms sweat so much that they can’t hold the mic and suddenly everything is no longer so much, but <em>too</em> much. Because as fast, as lively, as warm and invincible as they’ve made themselves over fine-tuning and linking shut this last portion of their circuit from years of hurting and healing in a continuous routine— sometimes Yunho finds he still can’t keep up. Sometimes he becomes a backseat observer to his own happiness and success.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> And no one, he knows, is the center of the universe. He’s told himself that a million times for a million different reasons. Things revolve around elsewhere with or without him being a part of the 8 that makes the 1. He knows reasonably he’s just another cog and his cooperation only makes them work <em>better</em>— makes them more powerful, raises them up, brings their relevance to a new level because he is quite physically hard to ignore and he hopes his energy measures up even half as much— but maybe it’s the newfound hope that he is important, that makes him begin to act up in between cuts and takes. Because maybe it’s the fact that Hongjoong is a once-in-a-lifetime friend who returns the sentiment, and if someone that well-respected respects Yunho, then doesn’t that stand for something? Yunho, who is on the receiving end of love from people much better, much brighter, much more <em>perfect</em>— shouldn’t that reasonably give birth to an ego, however small? A pride that flares in times of need when he feels that he could single handedly take them all down with him despite only being one man in a group of many more?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> (“But you only consider yourself important if something bad is going to happen,” Seonghwa had accused him before, calmly. Yunho wanted to protest but he bit his tongue, fear and anxiety gripping the edges of the appendage and rubbing against his teeth. He accepted the extra meat Seonghwa placed on his plate as a measure of apology despite there being nothing for him to apologize about. Yunho had found him to be right, in the end.)</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> They catch him, sometimes. When he’s overindulging in this weird, twisted, almost automated nature to revel in dirt. They catch him as he’s sinking into a pool of quicksand he made for himself and they tug him out, dust him off and tell him to keep his hands linked in theirs so he’ll never fall into it again. But he always lets go when they’re not watching, and he’ll find a way to sink back into it again. That’s how they all work, he’s found. They can only keep each other held back from certain things, and have to settle with watching them running into it the other half of the time. Yeosang had once mentioned a theory of needing pain in small doses to combat the overwhelming love and success they’re suddenly being bombarded with, and Yunho wasn’t one to argue. He doesn’t like pain, doesn’t even prefer to talk or hear about sad things— but maybe that’s what makes it all the more downward a spiral when he finally gets around to it. Like wounds he forgot were even possible to create, and in selfishness he impulsively makes one almost impossible to repair.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> And Yunho doesn’t want to think that he can’t control himself; doesn’t like the idea that he’d go far off an end so deep he’d never find his way back to the surface. It doesn’t seem right to pin it against himself that sometimes he just wants to relearn the ability to cry. It should be normal, when you’re so overcharged with energy. That energy is neutral in its existence and sometimes, Yunho has half a mind to put a part of the reserve to something negative. That’s just his humanity reminding itself it’s human in all its parts. Bad and good intermixing to gently reinforce that his emotions aren’t singular, but plural like the word itself. So it should be healthy, all things considered. Yunho’s nature 364 days out of the year should cancel out the one. He can handle it— the headaches from the noise and the lagging movement of his nature. The quiet as he’s not filling up their waiting room with all of his natural robustness. “An off day,” Wooyoung will call it with a frown. And everyone might cuddle on him, coddle him, show him some love for an hour or two before they dissolve back to normal and let him be. Because they know him, and it will pass.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Yunho closes his eyes, laying down in his bunk and trying to ignore the light still left on as San traipses around to their mini fridge and pulls something to drink out of it. Offhandedly, Yunho hears him offer something up, but he only waves his hand away and the room goes silent again.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> For some reason, even as he falls asleep, the barely existent light of the hallway burns behind his eyelids like it’s a spotlight shining on him, and he dreams of falling on the stage and fans screaming his name. And he dreams of laughing off an ache in his ankle that turns into bruising, that turns into hiatus, that turns into sitting for days in the practice room without practicing.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> And he dreams of failure— inevitable, quick, fast and gone.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Someone smiles at him and tells him he burned too fast, and now he has to deal with sitting in silence, surrounded by the smoke of what he once was, and come to terms with the fact that it’s his own fault he can never trace back the way he came.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">  When he wakes up, his head is pounding.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> They’re fortunate, with schedules and performances every other day, to get a free day at all. He’s lucky that whatever weird streak he’s on fell on one final work day to a week off from everything besides practices and schedules outside of the public eye. The preparation for another leg of their comeback and more to be done and said. The company gave them a moment to breathe in between and gather their bearings and no one is taking it for granted— as he walks around the dorm he finds them in multiple poses of tranquility or rest; all of them restoring their energy in this small rechargeable way that makes Yunho’s lips quirk. He wants to smile at them because inside, the normalcy of him that’s still functioning tells him to feel happy for them. He wants to, he does. But as the feeling rises to the surface something gently holds it down by its shoulders. Yunho lets it be, tells himself his face is just too tired from smiling all the time to keep doing it today.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> He only watches for a few minutes as they do their individual activities. San plays on his computer, Seonghwa does a little dusting on his desk and begins to assemble a new figurine, Hongjoong takes to sitting on the floor beside him and sewing together a patch to something else as they both occasionally look over and comment on one another’s work. Wooyoung, Yeosang and Jongho stay in and watch TV huddled together, flipping through channels when they get bored and only laughing or commenting at odd times. They are relaxed, soaking up what it really feels like to live in their bones in a state of stillness. Because after so long of being surrounded by business you begin to assimilate with it and the line of person and performer become hard to distinguish. Yunho’s grateful for the moments in between where he can watch all of his beloved brothers slink back behind the curtains and reassess their sense of self. When their persona on stage doesn’t change much to become the one off stage, but every one is all the more relaxed and carefree with the words he says because he doesn’t have to manage them so much anymore. When Yunho can tell that they're happy where they’re at. They are comfortable existing within the spotlight and outside of it. He’s happy if they're happy.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> But still, he can’t find it in himself to smile at them as he passes by. The feeling gets shoved down with a palm against its throat and Yunho feels his stomach twist uncomfortably, bile rising up for a split second only to drop down again into nothing. The back of his throat feels like a hollow, endless cavern and his stomach starts to feel like a bottomless pit. His eyes begin to burn and he rushes down the hall to try and just think— of where he can go and dive under the covers, bury himself there until the weird wave that’s washing over him passes. But every room is occupied and he knows San will ask if he rushes right back into his own bed as soon as he came out of it, and suddenly he feels like a sore thumb sticking out in the middle of his normal house on this normal day full of people who are all acting normal. Suddenly, again, he’s the single person chasing everyone else and hoping he’ll catch up.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> The room to Mingi’s door opens right beside Yunho. He hadn’t even noticed he was standing outside of it.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You okay?” Mingi asks him, bewildered, thin eyes wide and lips pursed in a way Yunho has traced a million times. He can’t find it in him to speak, so his words curl into themselves at the bob of his Adam's apple— submissive and quiet as he stares back at Mingi twice as much as he’s being observed. His eyes keep burning.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Mingi gasps and only then, with seconds passing between them and Yunho reassessing what’s changed in their unspoken staring contest— he feels it.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Tears running down his face without his say.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Mingi doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even ask, but he does tug Yunho inside his room and shuts the door.        </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">  Hongjoong’s remarked before that Mingi’s room is pretty, and has an air to it that’s nearly celestial. Yunho hasn’t thought too much of the comments in exchange for using them as fuel to shower Mingi in his ‘princess’ characteristic, but standing in the middle of it now, he can see exactly what Hongjoong means.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> It is pretty; decorated nicely in all the aspects of Mingi Yunho’s familiar with and the ones he’s still learning day by day as they continue to be friends for even longer. Despite his pouty, loud and timid nature that all collapse into one mess of a person, Mingi is coordinated and thoughtful in a way Yunho’s never met before. Because <em>yes</em>, Mingi is clumsy to a fault and a bit unsure with some of his movements, but he lives productively and with purpose. He sets his energy to something and never, never has Yunho seen him give it anything but his undivided attention. So it makes sense for Mingi to be given his own space and to do with it what he does with everything— make it entirely his; make it so undeniably beautiful, and diligently garnished with all of his own essence. Once he touches something he leaves a mark on it. Yunho’s been on the receiving end of it for years— clothes that go missing and end up in Mingi’s closet along with the rest of his effortlessly beautiful fashion. Objects, scripts, food that all go out of Yunho’s possession and end up in Mingi’s easily, because it just makes sense. Yunho himself, even, could make it on that extensive list.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> (Mingi curls his fingers around Yunho’s easily as they’re sitting in the van beside each other. Yunho doesn’t question it because it’s a habit they’ve cultivated over many years of doing it on accident and finally acknowledging it as something they’re both okay with.  </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> But Mingi still turns to him with a pout and murmurs, “My hands are really cold.” As though it needs a reason at all. As though Mingi needs a reason to take what he wants to ask for.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Yunho squeezes his hands tighter and says nothing. If Mingi asks for it, then he can have it.)</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Standing in the center of Mingi’s space, Yunho doesn’t feel as misplaced as he thought he would. Standing in their hall with his eyes pushing tears to surface, he felt abnormal. He felt odd. Like a very obvious stain in a scene of purity. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Now, among all of Mingi’s trinkets and possessions, Yunho feels he blends into the very fabric of the sheets on his bed. Which Mingi leads him into, lays him on softly like petals giving way below his back on this flower bed, and lets him settle on it easily without question. Maybe if Yunho could become something— taint and leave a lasting impression the way Mingi does on every single thing he touches— he’d stay right here. Until his skin was felt through the plush material and his smell was on the pillows. He’d just be another one of Mingi’s little collectible shelf decorations; a knick-knack someone would point out and Mingi would proudly smile at. Maybe if his nature was closer to San’s and he collect stuffed animals, Yunho could gift him one that he’d have no choice but to accept. So that a piece of Yunho belongs right in this room along with everything else so strikingly Mingi.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Maybe in a better life, Yunho would find a place to belong that wasn’t among Song Mingi’s precious throwaways. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “What’s the matter?” Mingi asks, because <em>of course</em> he would. Mingi understood what it felt like to want attention and feel the sincerity of others. Mingi knew firsthand, better than anyone else, the feeling of trying to come to terms with wanting. Because sitting in your room all day when your back is aching and killing you does that to you. Because feeling you’re a burden or being told you’re too loud or too cowardly does that to you. Because you are always too much of something like vibrant lights making peoples eyes shut and suddenly you’re taught to believe that wanting is the most difficult and undeserved feeling you can have. And Mingi made his peace with that demon enough to speak up about his loud mind— he powered through, pushed and shoved his way to be able to proudly demand something the way he should. So of course, <em>of course</em> beautiful Song Mingi who fights and wins his own battles, would want to know about someone else’s who is just the same. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Maybe it’s what makes Yunho lock up and just cry some more, because words fail him and there is no platonic or normal way to say <em>“you’re beautiful”</em> to someone you’ve been wanting to say that to for years. Frustration boils over eventually and if only Yunho were half as strong, as effortlessly capable, as graceful or as wise as his fellow members then maybe, maybe he could say what’s on his mind for once. For a single time maybe he could stop biting his tongue and being so agreeable— maybe he could make a fuss, start an uproar, mention the cacophony inside of his head that runs wild and rampant with how much energy he’s subconsciously cocooning so he only uses what he’s expected to rather than all that he wants to. It’s belated as it comes but Yunho realizes that he doesn’t get tired so much as he gets told to sit still. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Mingi runs a hand through his hair, sliding into the bed beside him and frowning as they lay face to face. The dirty blonde hair he’s proudly wearing like a roughed up and rusted halo presses into his pillow and in Yunho’s moment of being a self indulgent creature, he reaches a hand up to scratch at the undercut and tangle his fingers into it. Mingi lets him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Maybe you needed a break,” Mingi muses, as though that sole move of Yunho’s hand was all he needed to understand. “You are always running ahead, just to tell us what’s up there so we’ll keep going.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> And Yunho wants to say <em>‘no, that’s you’</em>, and a billion other sentiments that express how hard he thinks Mingi works— for them, for himself, for his family and his fans. Yunho wishes he could express the gratitude and respect he has for Mingi in all the ways; as a performer, as his friend, as someone who has dreams here and there that are filthy in their craving to do something like lock flesh in between his teeth and curl their fingers into one another over the high of dropping the rest of the world and its opinions into a recycling bin. If Yunho could relay thoughts and feelings as they come to him, then maybe things overall wouldn’t be so hard.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You’re working so hard,” Mingi says honestly, reaching up his own hand to copy Yunho’s movements and scratch at the scalp of his peach hair. “You do so well and I’m always so proud, every single day. You make so many people happy. You make me happy.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> And maybe some form of euphoria bursts behind Yunho’s eyes because for a second, the world twists on its axis in his vision and urges burst at the seams, a honey glow illuminating the inside of his chest and making his mouth run gold as it surges forward. He can’t relay words but his touch— his holds on people, his expressions, his movements— they can suffice, can’t they? Where dance has spoken for him before, can’t touch do the same? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Mingi doesn’t push him away as he greedily licks up, captures his mouth in a kiss that’s full of his own eagerness and yet is tender and chaste on the scale of sexuality. Because in it, Yunho’s craving is less the prominent part and more so a littered fragrance that tints it a certain flavor. At the tip, at the curve of the swipe along Mingi’s bottom lip and the way he lets their skin intermingle with no real movement— is the words he wants to say. All of the confessions and the thoughts, the pain and the fear, the twists and turns of his stomach and his fingers and life in general. Because he wants to be Mingi’s possession but more than that, he wants to share his everything. To bare and offer himself up as he was in his entirety; that including all of the messy and uncoordinated parts that couldn’t be accounted for with his smiles and his energy. That which forever remained a mess.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em> ‘I know we were only kids when we met’</em>, he wants to say, <em>‘But you were my everything then too.’</em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Mingi responds with a chaste peck. Yunho swims in the way it sedates him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em> ‘I know,’</em> it answers. <em>‘I always knew; I have always known.’ </em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> He feels his body succumb to that spell that Mingi can put him under with a mere touch; something cooling and calming that gets underneath the itch in Yunho’s skin and tells it to slumber once more. The gentle, steady pull of a voice lulling him with words of encouragement, telling him that this is enough, he is doing good and it’s <em>good enough. </em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> And he dreams of sitting in a room of smoke, scared and dark as the silence surrounds him. A light flickers on and Yunho sees his members laughing, recording on their phones and telling him to think less of the remaining fumes of the candles on their cake. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Mingi tells him he hopes that ATEEZ gets whatever Yunho wished for them. Tells him that they’d never be here if not for Yunho running with them at full speed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> ATEEZ is finally 2 years old. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he wakes up, Mingi is still there. They lay like that even as he comes to, sharing a look that promotes words to filter and cut through the peace surrounding them. Yunho finds it doesn’t bother him much. They would have to talk eventually.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I don’t know why I always feel the way I do,” he mutters, bare and raw in spirit as his face and voice both are. “But I want to work on it.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “There’s no pressure to be any certain way,” Mingi sighs, bones stretching and back aching as he moves closer. They cuddle into one another and it’s right; reminiscent of days long since past that Yunho hadn’t known up until right now he was missing dearly. “But don’t destroy yourself. I know you. You can do that better than anyone.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Yunho wants to ask for further elaboration but reasonably, he knows. The people who are most happy— most genuinely happy— destroy themselves easiest. Mingi’s been there and done that too. Maybe they weren’t as upfront and obvious about their insecurities as San and Seonghwa, or proudly introverted as Yeosang. Maybe they weren’t Hongjoong, or Wooyoung or Jongho— they were just them. Two people with a lot of energy and so many moments of happiness stacked atop each other like a brick house sealed tight so it couldn’t be blown over. But that’s what made them most dangerous. Because there was no way of knocking it over, but what was sealed inside was protected and festered with every breath, kept through lock and key in a chest somewhere far down like an unwanted treasure. They were happy, just as much as the next person if not more— but when they weren’t, it was as frustrating to them as it was to anyone else. And in an attempt to not feed that monster of uncertainty they’d shut it out, hoped it’d go away by morning. But when it does, it only comes back hungrier the next time it surfaces. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “It’s hard to talk about it, I know.” Mingi hums in thought for a second, face serious and slack so that his expression is true to his thought. Yunho has always loved that about him. Mingi wore things proudly all over; from his clothes to his eyes he was just Mingi and nothing else. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “But everyone starts somewhere. I started with you, you can start with me. Talk to me. Don’t bottle it up, it just makes it hurt more. If you’re scared, be scared. If you’re angry or hurt, let it be known. But let someone know. Even if you don’t entirely know yet yourself.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Mingi holds Yunho’s head and nuzzles their noses together, careful as they bump and slide their skin to not knick or slam it on accident. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I love you so much. I love you all <em>so</em> much,” Mingi mutters, quiet. “But you are my best friend and you’re my favorite person in the whole world. I love when you’re happy, and I want you to be as warm as you make everyone else feel. You matter, okay? And I mean that. To the group, the fans, me and everyone else that you’ve ever met. Don’t keep it inside just ‘cause you think it doesn’t mean anything.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Yunho nods against him in acknowledgement, eyes closed as Mingi holds them steady and presses a kiss to his lips however quickly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Let’s get you something to eat and then something to do, and hopefully we can talk to everyone else about this later too if you wanna.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Yunho catches him on his way up and out of the bed, looking at Mingi full on and wanting him to see it. Mingi smiles back at him blindingly, vibrantly and comfortingly. The world is full of so much, but Yunho finds nothing compares to Mingi. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I love you,” Yunho says— confident, selfish, exuberant as he always is. His true color bleeds back into the world swimming around them and it is abundant, but no longer excessive. He smiles at Mingi because seeing him happy makes him happy in turn and Yunho wants to show it. Yunho wants them to know he loves them always, that he wants to run and burn with them until the water’s all run dry. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I love you too,” Mingi returns. “Now get out of my bed!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Yunho laughs and follows him as they bicker and tussle lightly in the hallway. Loud, vibrant, and full of so much as the world around them is. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> The universe revolves around no one and nothing, but Yunho’s in it with 6 brothers and 1 soulmate, and he finds nothing about that irks him at all.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Twitter: @sanniedaize</p><p>If you want to leave comments/kudos to express that this work of fiction gave you a positive emotion or just made you feel an emotion at all, it’d be accepted with gratitude :) </p><p>Much love.</p><p>-n.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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